When I was a very small child in New England, very cold weather with lots of snow was the only kind of winter I knew. My mom bundled up my year-old brother in his baby carrier, and put three-year-old me on the ice in my wee little red double-bladed skates and taught me to glide. I suppose it was on a frozen-over puddle, but in my mind it was and will always be a pond. There are even pictures of me in my red snowsuit wearing red plastic skis, ready to slalom down the thick fluff of snowy incline between our home and the neighbors' townhouse.
Then my Navy dad was transferred to California, and I forgot all about the four traditional seasons -- we had sun, sun, sun and the rainy season. Snow was something in pictures or in a small patch on top of a southern Cali mountain trying to hold out against the relentless sun.
Our first year back on the East coast, we drove into and through one of the biggest, most widespread snow storms of the '80s. At eight years old, that was the most snow I had ever seen in my life, even counting my New England years. I was excited to experience all four seasons again and expected to be snowed in regularly for every remaining winter of my childhood in Virginia.
The next couple of decades was rather anticlimactic (or maybe I could say, anti-climatic) in that respect. Yes, there was that ONE time after we moved to Philadelphia in my late 20s when we got about three feet of snow, although we averaged maybe six inches when and IF we got any significant accumulation. And of course there was that winter in Syracuse--but then they ALWAYS get ridiculous amounts of snow --it started snowing in November and didn't really stop until about March. (Sort of.) And lest I forget, there was that time my mom got snowed in with a teenaged me at my boarding school in the Virginia mountains (my mom! all to myself! with her undivided attention! oh the horror! oh the joy!) under two or so feet of drifted snow.
All that being said, I wasn't expecting to experience quite so much snow, quite so often here in this part of Maryland. I had thought that the mountains further west would hoard all the hoariness, letting only the barest sprinkles dust the Glade Valley and environs. This winter is proving me wrong.
As much as I hate being cooped up at home, especially we we're snowed in, it's beginning to grow on me--mostly because it brings back memories of the wonderful time spent with my family during the few deeps snows we did experience together and partly just because I get to be at home.
(Now ask me if I feel that way after the expected 20+ inches this weekend.)